


Three Petals to the Blossom

by Cirrostratus (Lenticular)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Library Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism, erestor is a lil voyeur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2516099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenticular/pseuds/Cirrostratus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor stumbles across the King and his herald in the library. That's it; that's the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Petals to the Blossom

_Lairë trembled like a beechen leaf on the cusp of fall as her lovers mingled their breaths together. Indeed, her silken thighs trembled doubly as Fandir’s skilled archer’s fingers ghosted over Cellinor’s jutting manhood--_  
  
Erestor slapped the luridly red book shut when he heard footsteps enter the library, putting on a suitably guilty look as the person neared his hiding place. The red books, the infamous erotic Telerin novels, were consigned to the darkest corner of the castle library, which made it perfect for a bit of a handy, but also made plausible deniability if caught impossible.  
  
The shadow of the other person drew nearer, only to stop sharply when the door opened and yet another person entered.  
  
The footsteps retreated and Erestor drew a relieved breath. When he heard the low murmur of voices at the other end of the library, he returned to his book, one hand slipping back into his robes.  
  
 _\--jutting manhood. The muscular Avari warrior, dark skin glistening with silvery perspiration--_  
  
A thump, followed by a low chuckle. Erestor glanced up in irritation momentarily.  
  
 _\--silvery perspiration--_  
  
Erestor’s ears pricked at a sound he wasn’t sure whether he’d heard or imagined, at least until it came again; a hushed moan.  
  
He looked up, listening intently. More voices, whispered now, and an unmistakable whimper. Erestor closed the book slow, head quirked. Silence, but it was a tense one, and he slid ‘Three Petals to the Blossom’ back in its place before silently slipping along the tall shelves.  
  
It had come from the map area, he was certain of it, and only grew more certain at another moan and an encouraging word. He was close enough to recognise one voice, at least; there was no mistaking the deep rumble of his Majesty, Gil-Galad.  
  
He slipped from the line of shelves and received a clear view of the oaken table set out to hold maps. Elrond - the King’s lovely herald - stood by it, leaning over it as if to read the papers spread out on its surface, his face flushed and Gil-Galad standing behind him.  
  
At first Erestor thought they were caught in an embrace, pressed close back to chest; after a moment he realised that was only part of the truth. Elrond’s robes were hiked up, bundled up at the small of his back, the King’s hand wrapped around and disappearing into the shadows at the front, and their hips rocked in slow, gentle unison.  
  
Suddenly the flushed, half-lidded look on the herald’s face made a deal more sense, and the lingering kisses Gil-Galad pressed against the back of his neck took on a new meaning entirely.  
  
Erestor bit his lip hard and ducked back into the shadows between the shelves, eyes wide. He could still see them clearly and, after a long, tense moment, he was certain they had not seen him.  
  
He allowed himself to breathe again.  
  
A low and throaty noise came from Elrond, and Erestor nearly choked on that breath.  
  
“Hm…?” murmured the King.  
  
"I was in the middle of something," Elrond said, voice thick, husky. The tone was enough to make Erestor feel his pulse in the pit of his belly.  
  
Gil-Galad grinned. "And now, so am I." The look Elrond threw back over his shoulder just made that grin grow. One skilful hand, the one that was not - Erestor could only assume - occupied with Elrond’s cock, slipped into the herald’s tunic.  
  
After a moment, Elrond made a noise that had Erestor’s knees trembling; a thin, breathless moan, eyes clenching shut and tongue darting out to wet, bruised lips. Paper rustled, Elrond’s hands clenching around the documents on the table.  
  
“Was that good?” the King purred, low and rumbling.  
  
In the shadows between the shelves, Erestor palmed between his legs absently.  
  
“Yes,” Elrond breathed, eyes fluttering open, but unseeing.  
  
“You are perfect,” Gil-Galad said, voice edging on reverent, and leaned closer. Elrond turned his head, and though the angle hid it from Erestor, he knew the wet sounds of eager kissing well enough.  
  
Gild-Galad’s hand moved beneath the herald’s tunic again - pinching, Erestor surmised - and again Elrond moaned, the sound muffled.  
  
“Absolutely perfect,” the King hummed again. He rocked up suddenly, Elrond jolting forward with a low, whimpering cry.  
  
Erestor bit his tongue hard to stay silent.  
  
“Ereinion,” Elrond moaned, his voice raw and pleading. The King drew back, withdrawing his hands, settling them possessively on his herald’s hips instead. “Ereinion, please…”  
  
Gil-Galad smiled, open and warm, so different from the practised one at court, and he set a rhythm to match Elrond’s begging. Slow, but deep and, judging from Elrond’s keening yelps, suitably hard.  
  
Erestor’s hand curled around his cock, and he slumped against a shelf, eyes fixed on the two; the practised roll of Gil-Galad’s hips and the glimpses of his cock as he drew out; the way Elrond was rocked steadily against the table, hair tangled around his face, mouth hanging open in wanton pleasure.  
  
Erestor could not decide who he envied more between the two of them.  
  
He had dreamed of Elrond like this, open and begging and face twisting in pleasure. Now, having seen the real thing, the dream was all the more tempting; Erestor could almost feel how tight and warm the Peredhil would clench around him.  
  
Ah, but there was the King, and Erestor could just as easily imagine the sweetly painful stretch around Gil-Galad’s shaft, warm, broad hands skimming over his body, clamping onto his hips to claim him, _own_ him…  
  
Erestor muffled his own low whimper into the silk of his sleeve. It was thankfully drowned out by Elrond’s increasingly frantic noises, Gil-Galad’s rumbling moans.  
  
Elrond’s face was clenched in pleasure, head hanging down, and his back curved in impending climax. Erestor stroked himself faster; nearly, nearly…  
  
And right when it seemed the herald could hold no more, Gil-Galad stopped, returned abruptly to the slow rocking of before, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Elrond’s shoulder.  
  
Elrond choked, then made a disappointed noise, looking back with a face so flushed and lustful that Erestor damn near came at the sight.  
  
Gil-Galad shushed him, brushed a kiss and a lick along the tip of his ear. "Easy, lovely. There's no hurry."  
  
Elrond sighed, canted his hips back, and argued, "Someone might enter and..."  
  
"So they might,” the King conceded roughly. “I shall simply ask them to leave."  
  
“But it was so good,” Elrond continued, stubbornly, pleadingly.  
  
“It was, but…” Gil-Galad pressed in deep, moaned against dark, tangled hair, the noise echoed by Elrond. “.. but… I want to stay in you for as long as I can. Elbereth, you fit me like you were made for me.”  
  
Elrond swallowed, licked his lips (Erestor wondered how that tongue, those lips, might feel on his cock, and nearly swooned). “You are a hedonist,” the herald finally said, just too far past prim to be anything but teasing. “I-- I have work to do.”  
  
“I am your king,” Gil-Galad said, equally primly. “You work when I say you do.” His hands slid over Elrond’s chest, and suddenly both rope and tunic was tugged open and away to hang at the crooks of Elrond’s elbows.  
  
Erestor had to close his eyes and still his hand for a long moment at the sight.  
  
“Oh,” Elrond sighed, and he would have sounded disappointed if it wasn’t so husky. “Now no one will believe we’ve just been talking…”  
  
“No one would have believed that either way,” Gil-Galad growled, and Erestor could only imagine what he’d done to call that sudden, tight moan from Elrond. “We’re not even done, sweet herald, and you already look well-fucked.”  
  
Erestor risked opening his eyes. Elrond was panting, head down, and the King’s hand was between his legs again.  
  
Gil-Galad seemed to wait for an answer, and when he got none he smiled and pressed kisses to newly bared skin, still rocking into Elrond in that infuriatingly slow rhythm. “You are hard,” he hummed against his herald’s shoulder. “Almost done? Has it been so long for us…?”  
  
“Stop teasing,” Elrond panted.  
  
The King clucked his tongue mildly, but seemed to agree. In the shadows, Erestor was relieved, squeezing eagerly at his own sex. At the table, Gil-Galad wrapped his free arm over Elrond’s chest and took hold of his shoulder, keep him in place as, once again, the pace was upped, each thrust pushing Elrond against the table’s edge.  
  
The Peredhil’s hands spread on the wood, as if to keep him steady and, now uncaring it seemed, hoarse moans flowed from him freely. The King’s panting was muffled against the back of Elrond’s neck, but still harsh, and interspersed with wet kisses and low mutters Erestor could not make out.  
  
He wished himself between them for a heady moment; his cock deep in Elrond, and the King’s cock deep in him. Rocked forward by Gil-Galad and into the herald, surrounded by moans and whispers and clever hands.  
  
Thank Elbereth the two could not hear him over the sounds they made themselves.  
  
“A-- ai,” Elrond moaned, voice low and throaty, and his eyes seemed to roll back in his head. “Ai, Ereinion, you-- you can-- ah--!”  
  
The King seemed to know what he meant, for he untangled his arm and put his hand between Elrond’s shoulders, pushing the herald face-down onto the table. Then, with a raw moan of his own, he set into the Peredhil with force.  
  
Elrond flailed, knocking three books to the floor before his fingers closed around the far edge of the table. His pleas grew in pitch and volume, as if to be heard over the sudden, rhythmic scuff of the table legs over the stone floor.  
  
Now Erestor could see more clearly; the curve of Elrond’s ass, as round and taut as he’d imagined, and the glimpses of Gil-Galad’s shaft, wet and dark, pumping fervently into him. Erestor’s jaw dropped, and he squeezed at himself as if that might allow him to feel as they.  
  
“Ereinion,” Elrond gasped, knuckles white. “Ereinion!”  
  
The King leaned down, driving himself deeper into his herald, and growled, “Go on-- now. Now, Elrond, now, I want to feel you--!”  
  
The Peredhil’s cry was muffled into the table, but it was a lucky thing still that they were only three in the library; there was no mistaking that keening, the way Elrond’s voice trembled in climax through-out, his hips spasming, his back curving like a steel blade.  
  
Gil-Galad’s mouth fell open in a stuttering moan of his own, slamming his hips against Elrond twice more before pulling out, still hard and glistening. Elbereth, his cock was every bit as amazing as Erestor had imagined. The King stumbled back a step and, watching the prone and half-nude Elrond intently, began to stroke himself.  
  
Elrond stirred, pushing himself up, and looked back, a slow smile spreading across his face. “No,” he said, getting to his unsteady feet. “Sire, let me.”  
  
The King hesitated, then let his hand drop away with a smile. Erestor watched in shock as Elrond fell to his knees, and a shot of lust so hard that he nearly lost his breath went through Erestor when the Peredhil wrapped wet, bruised lips around Gil-Galad’s shaft.  
  
Letting go of a breath, Gil-Galad gently brushed locks of tangled hair out of Elrond’s face, smiling down at him, though it was noticed only by Erestor; the half-elf’s eyes were closed, brows furrowed lightly in concentration as he sucked the King deeper.  
  
Behind the shelves, Erestor covered his mouth, teeth closing on the thick silk of his sleeve, his other hand pumping quickly over his shaft.  
  
Curling a thin hand in the royal robes, Elrond shifted and pushed forward, swallowing Gil-Galad till his lips kissed the base of the King’s cock. Gil-Galad made a choked noise, jaw dropping open, and Elrond finally lifted his eyes to meet the King’s gaze.  
  
“Elrond,” Gil-Galad moaned, and his voice trembled and broke.  
  
Erestor’s sight blacked out briefly and powerfully, and his hips jerked into his hand, thin streams of come trickling over his clenched fingers.  
  
Elrond pulled back with a wet gasp, suckling at the head with a small mewl, before taking the King’s full shaft once more.  
  
“Elrond!” Gil-Galad gasped again, pushing forward as if to press impossibly deeper, and his hand clenched in the herald’s hair. Erestor noticed, after a dazed moment, the Peredhil’s throat bobbing, swallowing, and when the King pulled out with a dazed gasp, more than saliva dribbled from Elrond’s lips.  
  
If Erestor had not already reached his own end, surely the sight of Gil-Galad’s come dripping from Elrond’s chin to his bare chest and crumpled robes would have sent him tumbling into climax. He slumped against the shelves, trying to steady his heart and lungs both.  
  
At the table, Gil-Galad drew his herald to his feet and claimed his stained lips. Elrond pressed close, cupping the King’s jaw, offering his mouth for the taking. Erestor wished he was an artist, to commit the image to memory, they were so perfectly entwined.  
  
After a long moment - which Erestor used to get his robes in order - Elrond drew back to murmur something of which Erestor caught only, “Get back.” The kiss resumed briefly before king and herald broke apart for good, Elrond wiping his chin clean and shrugging his tunic back on.  
  
The King fussed briefly over his own robes, soon looking as infuriatingly and temptingly regal as ever, then reached to brush a caress over Elrond’s cheek. “Tonight,” he said.  
  
Looking up from buttoning his tunic, the Peredhil smiled and promised, “Tonight.”  
  
Erestor pressed against the shelves when Gil-Galad strode out, but he needn’t have worried; the King didn’t even glance aside on his way out. Throwing a look - perhaps a little longing - between the shelves at Elrond who was trying to straighten back his hair, Erestor melted back into the depths of the library lest he be seen and have to think of a lie.  


**Author's Note:**

> Point the first: I haven't kept up on fandom for several years, so if any of my characters differ from current popular fandom interpretations, uh... welp. Deal with it?
> 
> Point the second: this was a gift for my partner, in gratitude that they share my unabashed worship of Nerdanel.
> 
> Point the third: the, uh... "the Telerin novels with the lurid, red covers" is a several-years-old injoke at this point between my aforementioned partner and me. For the curious, other novels that have been titled through the ages are, "The Lily of Her Valley," Elrond's favourite as the main character reminds him of Celebrían; "The Oak of His Passion," which Gil-Galad hates because the main character is a goober; and "The Waves of Dusk," which is notable for being about a gay couple, and was a gift from Glorfindel to Gil-Galad.


End file.
